Letting Go
by FlyingHigh13
Summary: If you love something, let it go. England had heard that phrase many times before, sometimes even been the one saying it. But when it came to doing it? That was a completely different story.


**(A/N) Just a little USxUK oneshot I wrote after I was thinking about the saying, 'If you love something, let it go'. I started imagining how England delt with having to let America go, and this was the product. Hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. **

**Other thing: This is not meant to relate to the actual countries, nor any people that reside in these countries. If you find this offensive in any way, too bad. I put this here, so you can't say anything.  
**

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If you love something, let it go.

England had heard that phrase many times before, sometimes even been the one saying it. But when it came to doing it? That was a completely different story. America had been pining for independence for some time now, and England knew it was just a matter of time until he got it. He had asked China for advice on the matter, but all the Asian nation had said as, "If you love something, let it go, aru."

He received the same answer from Russia, (Although, he didn't think the blond was one to talk, after speaking with Lithuania about the matter.) and Canada. He had even reduced himself to asking that frog France about it. But, still that answer was given. Everywhere he when, everyone he asked, they all gave that one sentence, that stupid expression that should have never been invented. All the while, America persisted in his search for independence, even fashioning a declaration of independence. This angered England, and they began to fight not only with words and taxes, but with armies and guns.

Arthur really did love Alfred, and he knew he wasn't being fair to the colonial nation, but he felt that if he was too easy on him, America might think England was weak, and try to break away. His plan had backfired, however, and now the strong-willed blond was fighting for independence with all he had. England had considered letting him become his own nation many times, but always came to the same conclusion. He did not want to lose America. So, he ignored the advice of the others, and continued to try to squash Alfred into submission. If he could just get that reckless idea out of the foolish young nation's head, he wouldn't have to worry about losing him. But Alfred was stronger than Arthur had imagined. The war continued.

And so, here they were, on this battlefield littered with bodies and weapons, rain pouring down over the carnage. The two nations faced each other, each armed with bayonets and a strong will.

"Hey, England." America spoke, breaking the long silence that had held strong. "I want freedom after all. I'm not a child anymore, nor your little brother." England knew that. He knew that very well. Alfred was much more than his little brother. "Now, I am seceding from you!" It was England's worst nightmare. He felt the urge to pinch himself, to see if just maybe he would wake up. But he knew that there would be no waking up from this. There would be a winner, and there would be a loser, hearts would be broken and lives would be lost. They had started this war, and they would end it, no matter the consequences. Yes. The war must end. After a few more moments of silence, England charged at America, blade out to stab.

"I won't allow-" he tried to shout, but was cut off when the sword was stopped by the side of America's bayonet.

Neither side knew exactly what happened next. There are many speculations, such as England used some trick to flip America's bayonet out of his grasp, or that Alfred had tossed it away in a sign of surrender that had been misinterpreted by the others.

Either way, the weapon was knocked aside. The army behind America tensed, ready to shoot. England's hands shook as he held the blade to Alfred's forehead, fingers twitching on the trigger.

"Your incompetence is outstanding, you twit." England huffed, glancing at the army behind America. He wasn't just talking about the stubborn blond's want to become independent. Could he really not see how much Arthur loved him? Was he really that thick? Or did he just refuse to acknowledge it, because he didn't care? A battle waged in England's head, emotions fighting, tearing him apart from the inside. Slowly, he lowered the weapon, glaring harshly at America. "There's no way I can fire... fool." he managed out before the full effect of the war all rushed onto him in one swift movement.

He dropped the gun, falling to his knees beside it.

"Damn it! Why? Shit!" he cursed, letting is head fall into his hands as sobs wracked his body. Alfred blinked at the sight before him. He had never seen Arthur cry before. The nation had come home bloody, bruised, and broken, but never with a single tear in his eyes. He always wore that smile, the one America adored. But now, when not a single would had been inflicted on him, he was sobbing.

"England..." America spoke softly, not exactly knowing why.

"_Let's go home."_ a familiar voice rang out in his mind, an old memory flooding in. England reaching out his hand, offering America everything with that one simple gesture. The then-smaller nation had taken it gladly. And now, looking at what he and England's relationship had become, he couldn't help but let a tear of his own slip out at the memory.

"You used to be so big..." the younger nation spoke mostly to himself, gazing down at England. Slowly, he remembered where they were, and motioned for his troops to move out. Leading them, he allowed himself one glance back at Arthur, who hadn't moved from his place in the bloodstained grass. The once-intimidating nation seemed so small and helpless. Alfred wanted to comfort him, to tell him everything was fine, just to make him stop crying. But, he knew he would never be able to do that again.

England listened as America's troops moved out of the field, not rising from where he sat on his knees. Arthur would have given anything to just rewind back to before this whole war started, to have his sweet little colony back. But he knew that could never be done. America had made his choice, and broken England's heart into a million little pieces, leaving him to pick them all up. Only now did Arthur recall that advice he had gotten at the start of this war, which seemed like a hundred years ago. 'If you love something, let it go.' That one sentence, that stupid bloody phrase, was the only thing that kept him from running after America, grabbing him by the shoulders, and kissing him square on the lips.

Because he loved him enough to let him go.

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**Well, that's it. Short, I know. But is it deserving of a review? Please? **


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